


Some Reason in Madness

by Elywyngirlie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A New World Order, Canon Typical Violence, Conversion, Gods AU, M/M, conversations with Hannibal and Will, sacrificial Omegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie
Summary: Will Graham had hidden himself away for years. He did not want to be a Sacrifice to appease the gods' appetites. Not since had they returned to save humanity from its own selfishness, not since they had forced the new genders upon them, had an Omega escaped being a Sacrifice. He thought he could. He thought wrong. And in the end, only he could satisfy Death.Please check out the art for this done by kishafisha!





	Some Reason in Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to another.lost.one for her wonderful help as a beta! 
> 
> Kishafisha's art will be linked as soon as it is posted on Tumblr! She was a wonderful artist to work with and I enjoyed having the opportunity to work with them!

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.” 

―  **Friedrich Nietzsche**

  
  


Will dreaded the lottery. He had fought hard to have his name removed from the list of Omegas.

 

He had lied and hidden and driven himself underground. Managed to pass as a Beta for years, shirking heats and scrabbling for suppressants. He succeeded. They never knew. 

 

Until he shot Garret Jacob Hobbs and Hobbs’ knife nicked his skin. Subsequent blood-typing proved what had drawn the Alphas in his vicinity to him, snarling and posturing, even as blood stuck to him, tacky and cloying. Bitterness had flooded his mouth, the taste clinging to his every movement as he was processed. Stripped him of his suppressants and shaved his face until that almost luminescent Omega beauty shone through. 

 

Then, insult to injury, they entered his name in the drawing. 

 

He wasn’t surprised when he had been called for this season’s Sacrifice. It was just the gods laughing at him. Humanity was merely their plaything and now his blood would be used to keep the tenuous relationship alive. Interesting. 

 

Bait on the hook. 

 

“You should be honored,” Jack Crawford told him. He had visited to wish Will luck. Jack had been nothing but bad luck, Will fumed. 

 

“To be given to the god of death means you will bring blessings to us all.”

 

“Yeah, sure, my throat is slit but blessings for everyone else. Great tradeoff. Garret Jacob Hobbs could have done the job and saved us all the hassle,” Will muttered as he was prodded and yanked and dragged to the chariot to be taken to the Avenue of the Gods.  Huge temples, erected from the rubble of the civilizations before, reached toward the orange streaked sky. Alphas whooped and leered as the parade of Omegas marched down the Avenue, stopping to deliver votive Omegas to their respective gods. 

 

When the old gods had returned, had saved mankind from the utter ruin of their own making, they had ushered in a new order: new genders, new hierarchies. New demands. Now prayers and supplications were simply not enough. They needed acolytes. 

 

Sacrifices. 

 

The Goddess of Love needed Omegas to herald beauty, desire, lust--they were draped across the steps of her temple, tunics hiked high to reveal a flash of thigh, a finely turned calf, a delicate curve of a shoulder. Will knew it was a little more than a whorehouse. The same was true for the God of Wealth. Will had tracked down a money laundering ring ran by the priests before Jack Crawford had come to borrow his imagination and steal away his life. 

 

But Will, oh no. Will had been chosen for the finest, for the one god who sank his teeth into the flesh of his sacrifices, condemning them forever to his loving embrace. 

 

The God of Death. 

 

Will struggled as they tied him down on the black marble slab. Ornate candelabras dripping with gems gave the room a warm, flickering light. The marble was an icy slice along his spine, the thin fabric of his tunic slick with sweat. He snapped and snarled and they leveled their spears at him, jabbing him in the ribs. His breath blew out and he fought against the ropes as they bound him tight. He could hear his own skin ripping as they bit into his wrists. 

 

Priests, clad in blood red robes, shoved the other chosen Omegas to their knees. Will could hear them whimpering, their high pitched Omega whines, the prayers to spare them. He bared his teeth. He would not go down without a fight. Gods were only powerful if you believed in them--he would deny this Death his belief and his power. 

 

The room was in the center of the temple, utterly devoid of windows, stripped of natural light.  The clusters of candles barely ate away at the gloom, casting everyone’s face in shadows. They entered through one set of doors. And the only other exit was another set at the opposite end, maroon and gold. It was bare, functional, its only use determined by the drains cut into the floor. Will swallowed back the bile in his throat. 

 

A gong struck and the candles flickered. Will held his breath as the doors at the end of the hallway creaked open. Candles flared and he snarled. 

 

_ Cheap theatrics, _ he thought as a man strode through the door. Lithe and long limbed, he did not look like a god of death. He seemed more at home presiding over a dinner party than a beast devouring unwilling flesh. His spine was straight, his shoulders broad, his fingers long and tapered--more accustomed to playing a piano than holding a sword. 

 

This could not be Death. This must be his high priest, Will thought. 

 

Until their eyes met. And Will drew in one shuddering breath, betraying the fear that raced along his back. 

 

Maroon eyes, flat, cold, assessing. They swept over the room, taking in the crying sacrifices, the silent priests, and Will. Defiant Will who held back his shivers. Who lifted his chin as Death came to stand next to him. 

 

“Hello, little Omega,” Death purred in a smoky accent, like whiskey being swirled in a glass in a firelit room. 

 

“I have a name,” Will ground out. The corner of Death’s mouth lifted. 

 

“I imagine you do. It is not necessary for me to absorb your life.” 

 

“Don’t get to know your sacrifices? Really, that’s rude,” Will shot back. Death’s brow furrowed, lips pursing together. His head tilted and the odd smile still played on his lips. 

 

“That is quite true, little Omega. Does it matter so much before Death?” 

 

“Life is nothing but a string of little things. Refusing to give the basic niceties before we give up our blood to you seems petty. I’d assume you were above such things.” 

 

Death narrowed his eyes and Will could feel the weight of his scrutiny. He pulled at his ropes, blood trickling down his wrist, and Death raised his head, delicate nose sniffing.  He bestowed a genteel smile upon Will, showing his sharp teeth. 

 

“Ah, a fighter. I shall savor your soul.”

 

“The meat goes bad when it's flushed with fear,” Will snapped and Death laughed. 

 

“Good thing for you that you are not full of it. I taste courage and defiance.” He leaned down to sniff again and Will reared up, teeth digging into the meat of Death’s cheek. The god jerked away and Will spat out the bit of flesh that he had managed to bite off. Priests rushed forward and Death held up a hand. Will could hear a chatter of fear through the other omegas. Blood coated Death’s lips and he reached up a hand to touch the torn skin. 

 

“There, Death. Now I’m as much a part of you as you are a part of me,” Will ground out, triumph flooding through him. He knew it was trivial, that he was only delaying the inevitable. But he was loathed to let this thing tear at his neck without a fight. 

 

Death frowned and wiped at his cheek. 

 

“When I consume you, you will be shared only with me. You will cease to exist,” Death snarled. Will laughed, a choking wheezy sound. 

 

“No, I become you. Sharing my flesh? Sharing is as bonding as it is binding. We will become one and you will never be rid of me.”

 

Something like wonder flashed across Death’s face. He smiled and that frightened Will more than his solemn countenance. This was the face he wore before he swept across fields, reaping all the souls of the fallen. Before he cast judgment. A smile that was triumphant and terrifying and hungry. 

 

“Cut him down,” Death ordered. “And bring him to my chambers.”

 

“Sir?” one of the priests asked. Death snapped his fingers and with a strangled cry the priest fell to his knees. 

 

“I find that I prefer this feast to be held in private,” he murmured. Will cried out as the red robed priests surged forward to hold him in vice like grips, bruises blooming beneath their fingers. They sliced the ropes that bound him to the table, and dragged him out of the room. Death watched silently. Just as the doors closed, Will watched Death grab a whimpering Omega, jerk his head back, and rip out his throat. 

 

* * *

 

Death’s chambers proved to be just as richly appointed as the altar, but far less ostentatious. A large bed took up most of the room, piled high with blankets and pillow. Tall windows, as high as the room, were covered in red and white silk curtains. A wide, gold veined marble fireplace dominated much of the eastern wall.  Before he had been abandoned, one of the priests had stoked the fire and Will now huddled by it, watching the flickering flames, and wondering if throwing himself on them would spare him a worse fate. 

 

Fur rugs were scattered around the room and he combed his fingers through a bear pelt while he pondered his change in circumstances. Will longed to return to his life before. Ensuring he had the right suppressants, dealing with the scraggly beard, and learning Beta fashions was extra work he hadn’t relished but had delved deeply into in order to hide. He didn’t want anyone to look too closely, ducking his head and peering at the world behind his glasses. Frumpy Will Graham, too unstable to join the National Investigative Bureau. But not unstable enough not to teach or to be referenced for his work with insect activity. 

 

The door opened and Death entered with a fluidity that Will could only call grace. His maroon gaze flicked over once, Will all too aware of the heat of his gaze, before stopping before a table laden with food and drink. 

 

“Have you partaken?” Death asked courteously. Will’s lips lifted in a feral growl. 

 

“I will not flavor the meat for you.” 

 

Death gave a low rolling chuckle, smoke and enchantment. Will shuddered and looked away. 

 

“Please, it is nothing sinister.”

 

Will barely spared him a glance. “Your teeth are still stained.” 

 

He felt rather than saw Death still. He heard him clear his throat. 

 

“Excuse me,” the god murmured before exiting the room. Will heard running water and the sound of teeth being scrubbed. He snorted and continued to pet the rug. It reminded him of his dogs, the comfort of running his fingers through their fur, of their easy going and assured affection. He wondered how they were now, if Alana would take care of them as she promised. 

 

“I apologize for that,” Death announced as he re-entered the room. He had abandoned his ceremonial robes for something simpler, a loose flowing tunic and trousers. He tossed a pair at Will.

 

“Although I am bigger than you, I believe they will fit.” 

 

Will raised a skeptical brow. 

  
“Why are you doing this?” 

 

Death ignored him, pouring a cup of coffee and Will quickly slid the trousers on, holding back a groan of appreciation for the smoothness of silk. Silly Omega, he scolded himself. 

 

“So, Will--it is Will, I believe--how did a beauty such as yourself escape notice for so long? I refuse to believe that the Goddess of Love wouldn’t have pounced on you when you were just a slip of a boy.” 

 

“Your compliments do you no justice,” Will retorted and Death chuckled. 

 

“Please, Will, call me Hannibal,” Death replied graciously. Will raised an imperious brow. 

 

“Naming yourself after an ancient conqueror?” 

 

“As it happens, I did not name myself. It was given to me.” That small smile graced Death’s feline features again, enigmatic, as if it were laughing at Will,. 

 

“Beside, you are named after one yourself, he of the Normans, of destruction.” 

 

Will groused and shrank closer to the fire as Death, no-  _ Hannibal _ walked toward him bearing a cup of coffee. Hannibal smirked and placed the mug on an end table. He returned and began to plate food, working efficiently. Smoothly. He carried two plates with him and placed the other next to Will. 

 

“You need your strength,” was all he said as he took a seat at a small table by the window. He draped a napkin on his lap and began to eat, eyes closing, his face the picture of ecstasy as the fork slid out of his mouth. Will tried not to watch. It felt too much like voyeurism. 

 

He looked down at his plate and scoffed. It was more a work of art than an actual meal. Thin white slices of meat were drizzled with a decadent red sauce, viscous, like blood, with a heaping of vegetables arranged in a sculpture. He had never seen anything like this before and, as his stomach growled, he reminded himself that he had not eaten for almost two days. 

 

“You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will.” 

 

Will blinked and frowned. “And what if my instincts tell me to drive a knife through your heart?” 

 

He expected recriminations, shouts for the guard. He did not expect a beatific smile and an odd, heated smell to roll over him. Will blanched. The god was behaving as if an Alpha? 

 

“Then you will have to get much closer,” was all Hannibal would say before returning to his meal. Will waited, sure there was more. Sure that frown lines were permanently marring his face--and wondering if it even mattered--Will pulled the plate on his lap and began to pick at the food with his fingers. He paused as the meat lingered on his tongue. There was something...different about it. 

 

“I would not poison you, Will. I would not do that to the meat,” Hannibal said, breaking the quiet. Will hunched over his plate and hurriedly shoved the meat into his mouth, stomach protesting the sudden influx of food. Even if he were to die, at least it would be with a full belly, he reasoned. He was licking his fingers when a glass of bubbling water appeared before him.

 

“Your stomach most likely will not handle the rich food well. Drink this.” 

 

Will cocked his head. “Why do you care?” 

 

Hannibal scarcely spared him a glance. “I don’t want vomit on my carpet.” Will raised the glass to his lips. “Or in my bed.”

 

Water spewed from his mouth and Will growled. 

 

“I am not a whore for sale, Hannibal.”

 

“What is a whore other than someone for sale?” Hannibal pondered. “And indeed why the disparaging of sex workers? A rather medieval attitude.”

 

“I’m not downgrading--” Will spluttered before inhaling sharply. “I don’t want to sleep with you.” 

 

The wall of Alpha hormones hit him hard and Will pressed his lips together. He could feel his Omega instincts rising, a desire to sinuously wind his way toward a thoroughbred Alpha, and present. He dug his nails into his palm. 

 

“Surely a god like you could find someone more desirable.”

 

“Who knows what constitutes desire in one?”

 

“You would rather a mate that would just as much kill you as let you take them?” Will hadn’t meant to imply that he would find being in Hannibal’s bed acceptable. It was hard to think with the thick savory Alpha hormones caressing him. Hannibal took a seat in a leather chair across from Will, crossing one leg over the other, watching him almost clinically. 

 

“I think some might find that entirely appetizing.”

 

“What kind of masochist are you?”

 

“You are entirely too fond of labels, Will. I imagine that helped you in your prior work. This one has bipolar disorder, this one is a psychopath--”

 

“No credible investigator uses the word psychopath,” Will snapped, breathing through his mouth. He tried not to meet Hannibal’s gaze.

 

“It serves its purpose.”

 

“As does I imagine this display of Alpha dominance. But it will get you nowhere!”  He wasn’t entirely conscious of his hand closing around the fork, his muscles coiling in his legs, leaping toward the larger man. Hannibal gave a strangled cry, hand flying up to grab Will’s wrist, and wrestling him to the ground. Will jerked beneath him, snarling, teeth gnashing, Hannibal grinding down on him, his heavy weight countering Will’s wild movements. 

 

Will thrust his hips upward as his fist dove toward Hannibal’s kidney. The god twisted, shoving himself away, and sprang to his haunches. Will scrambled to his feet, the fork still in his hand, unable to stop the low growl tumbling from his throat. 

 

“You cannot think to win a fight against me,” Hannibal murmured. He seemed amused and this only enraged Will more. 

 

“Don’t think an Omega can take you down?”

 

“I am a god.”

 

“Liar,” Will grinned, a feral triumph. “You are an Alpha. I don’t know if you’ve been bestowed a gift or not. But I heard the blood beating in your veins.”

 

A slight frown marred Hannibal’s face. Will’s body tensed, his fingers creaking on the fork. Then Hannibal moved and Will wondered if he were wrong about him. He was a blur and Will could only stumble back, blindly slashing, until one firm hand grabs his wrist, supple thumb digging into a pressure point and another arm wrapping around his throat. 

 

“I cannot seem to predict you,” Hannibal murmured, arm squeezing tight. With a strangled gasp, Will dropped the fork and he clawed at Hannibal’s arm. Blackness ate away at the edge of his vision, heels digging into the carpet, until he knew no more. 

* * *

 

He was lashed to the bed when he woke up. Silk scarves, as strong as steel, were wrapped around his wrists and his ankles. He was surprised that he wasn’t spread open. He remained dressed and a blanket had been draped carefully over him. Will looked out the window--it was dark now--and the fire was banked low. 

 

He would have been supremely disappointed in himself if he did not struggle. He pulled and strained but the silk held firm. Panting, Will flung himself back in the bed and found himself staring up at a fresco painted on the ceiling. A smiling grinning skeleton. He frowned. It seemed too macabre, too honest really. 

 

“You cannot forget me wherever you go.” Hannibal’s low voice rolled through the room and Will peered into the dimness. He could not see the god. 

 

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

 

“What is the difference between the two?”

 

“The outcome, I suppose.” 

 

Hannibal surprised him with a chuckle. “Then I suppose, dear Will, this all depends on what you do.” 

 

Will held himself still at the words. Hannibal could easily rip into his throat and dine on him at his leisure. Why did Will resist the inevitable so much, he wondered. He was always delaying the pain. 

 

“I confess that I don’t know what to do,” Hannibal remarked, throwing Will another curve ball. He was struggling to anticipate this man. It was as if Hannibal enjoyed remaining in the shadows and forcing Will to rely on his gift more to understand him. Will squirmed against his bonds, mind racing, before he lay back and breathed heavily. His heart hammered in his chest and he bit back a snarl. 

 

“Why do you struggle so much, Will?” came Hannibal’s voice, so quiet that it was nearly swallowed by the snapping of the logs in the fire. 

 

“I don’t know,” Will sullenly replied. 

 

“You’ll have to do better than that.” 

 

Will mulishly refused to reply, running his tongue along his teeth. Hannibal did not seem thwarted and continued to speak. 

 

“I wonder if you understand why we revere Omegas so and if the reverence is why you hate your own nature.”

 

“I don’t hate it!” 

 

“Don’t you? Neither do you embrace it. Caught in the crossroads, again, my dear.” 

 

“It is inconvenient,” Will snapped and pulled himself into an awkward sitting position, aided by several pillows. He glared at Hannibal sitting cross legged in a chair next to the fire. 

 

“How so?”

 

Will licked his lips. How honest should he be? His death was almost certain. 

 

“The heats,” he admitted. “I don’t like…” At that moment, a spike of Alpha pheromones and Will gasped in horror as he felt a drop of slick slide down his thigh. 

 

“You bastard.” It was barely a whisper but it carried that particular heat-- _a promise_ \-- all the same. 

 

A pleased chuckle rolled across the room to him. 

 

“Desire is created by lack. I wonder what you lack and what I can do to facilitate an expression of it.”

 

“And how is prompting an unwilling Omega into heat an act of reverence?,” Will bit out. 

 

“Worship assumes so many forms, Will. The fear in their eyes when they come before me. The scent in the air as an Alpha sights his mate. The sighs lovers make as their skin glides together. The joy I will give you when I make you mine.”

 

Will hacked a disbelieving laugh. “You will make me your mate?” 

 

Hannibal rose and crossed the room, staring gravely down at Will. He did not look like a man in a love, like a man coming to caress and whisper adorations to his beloved. He seemed condemned. Confused, in awe, his mouth slightly agape as his gaze swept across Will, hunger flickering in the maroon depths  

 

“What is it that you lack, Hannibal?” Will asked.

 

Hannibal met Will’s eyes and Will gasped as his gift flared into being, light sweeping behind his eyes, and he knew. He knew that Death was a lack, a need, a hole, a need to be filled--that Death was a mouth, always hungering--and Will found himself swallowed whole. 

 

* * *

 

Jack Crawford wiped the sweat off his brow. The sun was a pulsing, driving heat this day and the smell of gutted entrails clung to his nostrils. He could not shake it off, despite huffing coffee beans and sucking on peppermints. 

 

The murder scene stuck to his mind like a burr and he growled as he mounted the steps to the temple of Death. He did not know if the rumors were true but he needed to find out. They said there was a way now to petition Death to allow a few moments to speak with the dead. He had to hope it was true. To discover if there was something he could offer to tempt Death to give him a couple minutes with the victim.  

 

The halls were busy but hushed. Death was never still, a fact that Jack lived and made his business with. A weeping father clung to his wife, tears slipping down her cheeks. An acolyte ushered them into a room while a younger child wandered about, dazed. Jack shook them off and thundered toward the main room. 

 

He banged on the door and an acolyte opened it a crack. 

 

“I am here for the high priest,” Jack said, almost an order, holding up his badge. The acolyte raised a brow before opening the door and admitting him. Jack held his breath as he entered Death’s main sanctum, where Omegas were sacrificed at the beginning of the year. He wasn’t sure what to expect but this quiet opulence was not it. 

 

He looked at the black marble slab that he knew was used. It gleamed spotlessly. He wondered how Will went. If he fought like he knew the man would. He touched the slab almost reverently. 

 

“Hello Jack.”

 

Jack started and turned, his mouth gaping like a fish. 

 

“Will? Will Graham?” 

 

Will stood at the entrance to the God’s den, where Death resided. He was dressed in robes that indicated that he was the high priest, causing Jack’s eyebrows to climb. The warm, dewy Omega scent rolled off of him, banishing at last the putrid scent that Jack had brought in with him. He moved with a leonine grace that he hadn’t possessed before. 

 

“You’re alive,” Jack breathed the prayer. 

 

“In a manner,” Will answered obliquely. He approached Jack and ran his hand along the obsidian. “What do you want Jack?”

 

“I...I heard you lived,” Jack stuttered and Will snorted. He walked around the slab, hand trailing along, and Jack started as he saw the mating mark, the deep scar, still livid, on Will’s neck. 

 

“Will...you’re mated.”

 

“Got it in one.”

 

“Recently from the looks of it,” Jack commented, wondering if he should offer congratulations. Will gave a lopsided smile. 

 

“No. Since I was offered up for sacrifice.”

 

“But your mark...the lividity…”

 

“That’s the thing about being married to Death, Jack. His mark fades into dust every night and every morning I must be devoured again.” 

 

Jack searched for the bitterness that he knew from Will before but found only contentment. 

 

“What happened?” he asked, baffled. 

 

“I looked into the abyss and found the monster, Jack. It was within.” 

 

Jack gaped, horrified. Will gave him a small smile before facing him, folding his hands in front of him. 

 

“Now, what vision can we grant you?” 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art of "Some Reason in Madness" by hauscrashburn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098040) by [kishafisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha)




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